


Oh, Here You Are

by cognitioncorsair



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol warning, All completely consensual and overage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And there's nothing underage jsyk, At one point someone does make a joke and says "did you want to date a 10 year old?", But that's absolutely the worst that happens re: underage stuff, Even though they start out under 18, Implied/Reference Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Burn, There's also some drag queen stuff if that makes anyone uncomfortable, Time Skips, a lot of canon divergence probably, kind of slow burn? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognitioncorsair/pseuds/cognitioncorsair
Summary: Once again, their paths had crossed, and once again, fate was keeping them apart.





	1. The Past

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been in my idea for a long time, and I'm really excited to finally get the chance to share it ^u^
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!!!
> 
> ALSO I just realized this might be a little unclear, but when it says "x years later" it means from the previous chapter, not the beginning :)

Little Julian clung to his great-grandfather’s arm, staring wide-eyed at the fantastical set pieces scattered around them. The old man led him across the stage, pointing out which pieces would be used in the acts later that evening and explaining their functions. He stopped at one particularly ornate construction, a tall, jeweled grandfather clock, and knelt down beside the little boy.

“Tell me, Julian, have you ever seen one of these before?”

Julian giggled. “I’m _ten_ , zeyde, I know what a clock is!” Despite this assertion, he gazed up at the clock in complete wonder, detail after detail catching his eye.

His great-grandfather smiled, scooping up the small boy like he weighed nothing and standing so the clock’s face was at both of their eye levels. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, you little vilde chaya. Look closer and tell me if you’ve _really_ seen something like this before.”

Julian gasped, his mouth falling open. Behind the normal clock face, he saw a dazzling mountain landscape, seeming to stretch back into the clock farther than physically possible. Above the mountains, tiny, stunningly realistic clouds drifted across the sky, partially obscuring the bright light of an even tinier sun.

“How- how’s it doing that!?”

“Well, Julian, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be much of an act, would it?” His great-grandfather set him down gently, shaking his head. “One day, little one, I will tell you all my secrets, and the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air will be all yours.”

The boy’s eyes opened even wider. “You mean it?!” His great-grandfather nodded, smiling down at him, and Julian leapt forward, wrapping his arms around the tall man’s waist. “Thank you so much, zeyde, I won’t let you down!”

“I know you won’t, bubbala.” He ruffled his great-grandson’s curly mop, looking up as a young man came running up to him.

“Mr. Katzman, sir, one of the stagehands just cut her hand pretty bad and they can't find any more bandages in the stagehand’s lounge, do you have any in your office?”

“Yes, yes, in the… second drawer down in my filing cabinet.”

“Thank you sir,” the man panted, running off the way he came.

“Come talk to me after you deal with the situation!” Julian’s great-grandfather (‘Mr. Katzman?’ Julian thought) called after him.

Julian tugged on his sleeve. “Who was that?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, have I not introduced you two yet?” Julian shook his head. “That’s my apprentice- oh, here he comes, back again. John! _Please_ tell me it wasn’t Leticia again.”

John jogged back over to the two of them, clothes sweaty and ruffled. “Everything’s fine, sir, it wasn’t as bad as we thought. She, er, yes, it was Leticia, she was carrying the prismatic hedgehog, and it may have stabbed her, well, once or twice.”

Mr. Katzman sighed. “How many times do I need to tell that girl to use the proper safety equipment?”

John took a step back. “I’ll go tell her right now, sir, you don’t have to worry about a thing!” He spun on his heel, jerking back as Julian’s great-grandfather put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Is there something else, sir?” he asked, turning back around.

“Yes, in fact there is, John. Have you said hello to our little guest yet?”

John’s eyes traveled downwards, blinking when he saw Julian, as if he had just appeared out of thin air “Oh! I don’t believe I have.” He stuck out a hand. “John Cameron, assistant host, kind of, Orbiting Human Circus (of the Air).”

Julian looked hesitantly up at his great-grandfather, who smiled at him. Still holding onto the old man, he took John’s hand, giving it the slightest shake. “I’m- I’m Julian. I don’t have a job yet, because I’m only ten, and I’m staying with my great-grandfather.” He released John’s hand and pointed up at Mr. Katzman. “That’s my great-grandfather.”

The young man grinned, leaning down to meet Julian’s warm brown eyes. “Don’t worry, this is still my first job. I just graduated high school, so I’ve only been here the last couple summers during vacation time.” He straightened up, groaning as his back cracked. “I already feel old at seventeen. Is this how you feel all the time, Mr. Katzman?”

Julian’s great-grandfather swatted at John, who hopped back. “Go talk to Leticia, old man.” He scowled as the young man saluted, then ran back off into the wings. “Oh, that kid. He’s very talented, despite appearances. He’ll have his own show one day, I’m sure of that.”

Julian looked up, suddenly concerned. “But not this show, right?”

“Of course not, little one, this show is yours.”

The boy smiled and snuggled up against his great-grandfather, completely satisfied.


	2. Five Years Later

John Cameron, host of The Orbiting Human Circus (of the Air), sat slumped over a sticky, stained bar, nursing a mug of cheap beer.  The pub was poorly lit and mostly empty, perfect for an up-and-coming Parisian celebrity. The only other occupants were the bartender, a couple of homeless-looking men, and a janitor quietly sweeping the floor in the corner of the room.

John tipped his head back and drained his glass, gently sliding it across the surface of the bar. “Another, please.” The bartender complied, giving the young man his drink and holding out a hand. “It’s almost closing time, kid,” he said. “Time ta pay your tab.”

The host dug around in his pockets, pulling out a ragged wallet and extracting a bent credit card, which he handed to the man.

“Gonna need to see some ID.”

John sighed, handing him another piece of plastic. The bartender compared the two cards, squinting at them in the low light. “John Cameron, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Nope.” John slipped the wallet back into his pocket, chugged the beer, and stood. “Have a nice evening.”

“Alright, kid, you too.”

As the young man walked out into the cool autumn air, he heard someone run up behind him.

“John! John Cameron!”

 _Oh god, please tell me neither of those hobos listen to my show._ He kept walking, pulling his hood up to cover his unmistakable ginger hair.

“John, please, I have to talk to you!”

John spun around, almost knocking over the small figure who had been pursuing him. “What do you want? Money? A spot on the show? Don’t you know better than to harass strangers this late at night, even… fucking… B-list celebrities?”

“I- I-” The figure, who John now saw to be a young, probably teenage boy, took a step back, covering his mouth like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron, it’s- I’m- I’m Julian, remember?”

The host racked his brain for any ‘Julian’ he might’ve met recently. The kid of a famous circus guest, maybe? But no, why would he be out this late at night? “I’m sorry for yelling, kid, I just… I’ve had a long day.” He pulled out a pen and notepad. “I signed an autograph for you recently, yes? Here, have another. Maybe you can sell it for a few bucks, I don’t know.” He held out the paper, waiting for the boy to take it.

“You- you don’t remember me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kid, I meet a lot of fans in my line of work, I can't remember all of them. If you tell me when and where we met, that might help?” John had no idea why he was still standing there; he was drunk, tired, and wanted desperately to go home, but something about the kid held his attention.

“I- I’m not a fan.”

Oh. So that was it. “I have plenty of critics too, if you were worried,” he replied, voice cold.

Julian’s eyes widened. “No, no, not at all! I do like your show, of course I do, it’s the most amazing thing. It’s just that we met before you were in it. Or, kind of. You were just kinda the assistant host?”

John exhaled, memories flooding back into his brain: a boy, five years younger than the one in front of him, visiting the circus with-

“Mr. Katzman, you’re, you’re his _grandson_?” he asked incredulously.

The boy’s face lit up and he threw his arms around John. “You do remember!”

“I, yes, I mean it’s been five years, but I remember your visit, of course I do. It was just before-” He trailed off, gently pushing Julian away from him. “You… know about your great-grandfather, right?”

“That he’s… dead. Yeah. I know.” The kid stared down at the cracked sidewalk, biting his lip. “My- my parents wouldn’t tell me, but I found out.”

John sighed. “I’m so sorry, Julian. After… it happened, everything was so crazy for a while. I didn’t even think to look for you, wonder where you’d gone…” He looked the boy up and down, taking in his ragged clothes, long hair, and dirty face. “Where _did_ you go?”

“Uh… I kinda, well, ran away?” He peeked up at John, who was still staring at him.

“From Mr. Katzman? You seemed so happy with him.

Julian laughed softly. “No, my zeyde was who I was running _to_. But then I couldn’t anymore, so I just… left. I-” He stopped, rubbing his bare arms and shivering in the cool air. “I, um, left and came here, to Paris, and-”

John held up one hand, placing the other on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s too cold to stand out here all night. I’m exhausted, and you need some real clothes. Here, I-” He looked around the empty street as if some warm, fuzzy pajamas (the clothes his sappy, inebriated brain desperately wanted to give the poor boy) would just fall out of the sky.

“Err… here.” Against his better judgement, John pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to Julian, who looked questioningly at him before smiling gratefully and putting it on. He rubbed his face against the soft fabric, sighing a little.

“Thank you, Mr. Cameron, sir.”

John flushed, despite the cold. “Uh, just John, John is fine.” He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, gesturing with his head in the direction he’d been walking. “There’s a bus stop not too far. I’ll take you back to my… place, warm you up.” He cringed at the phrasing but Julian didn’t seem to notice, just smiled at him again and started walking, John falling into step beside him.

***

“ _This_ is ‘your place’?”

The two stared up at the Eiffel Tower, the structure sparkling with twenty thousand lightbulbs.

John shrugged sheepishly. “My salary is not quite as high as you might expect. I’ve been, well, living in my dressing room to save money.”

Julian frowned, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t you been host of the circus for like, five years now? And you can't afford an apartment?”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re just overflowing with extra cash, Mr. Fifteen-Year-Old.”

“I guess not.”

John pulled out his keys, heading towards a door at the base of the tower. “I didn’t think so.”

They spent the elevator ride in silence, Julian pressing his nose to the glass and gazing out over the Paris. John leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, enjoying a few moments of quiet. At the top, the doors dinged open, revealing the dark hallways behind the scenes of the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air. The host led the way through the maze of corridors, stopping at an unobtrusive door labeled “DRESSING ROOM”. He unlocked it and pushed it open, bracing his shoulder against the wood.

“The hinges get a little stuck sometimes. Budget constraints.”

Julian huffed. “I don’t remember zeyde having a budget.”

“Times change, kid.”

John flipped a switch, lighting up a couple weak, flickering bulbs. Julian looked uncomfortably around the room, taking in the threadbare mattress, lumpy couch, worn desk, and various cardboard boxes lining the walls.

“It’s… cozy?” he said. John gave him a side eye, but kept his mouth shut, slumping down onto the couch.

“You can have the, er, bed,” he said with a yawn. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow, but feel free to sleep as late as you want. Just don’t leave the room, I don’t want you getting in trouble. Or me getting in trouble either.”

“Mkay.” Julian curled up on the mattress, pulling John’s one blanket over him. “Thanks, John,” he said sleepily. “I won’t do anything wrong.”

John drifted off, allowing himself to think about his old boss, mentor, and father figure for the first time in years. His dreams were filled with images of Julian, grown up and dressed in his great-grandfather’s clothes, warm brown eyes twinkling at him. As he left the next morning, he glanced over at the kid, making sure he hadn’t magically aged twenty years overnight.

 _Perhaps it would be easier if he had_ , John thought. _What do you do with some random teenager who’s not even related to you?_

In the end, he never answered that question. By the time he returned, late that afternoon, Julian was gone.


	3. Ten Years Later

“Watch out boys, momma’s home!”

John Cameron stepped through the door of the club to a barrage of whistles and shouts. He sashayed over to the bar, accepting a chair someone pulled out for him. He smoothed down his dress, adjusted his wig, and slammed his wallet down on the counter.

“Shots for everyone!” he called out in a strong, confident falsetto, accompanied by more cheers.

The man wiping down the bartop blinked at him. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m not the bartender,” he said. “He’s on break.”

“Oh.” John faltered, quickly regaining his stride but losing the attention of his audience, who went back to their conversations. “What sorta establishment _is_ this, that the bartender gets to fuck off and leave us high and dry?”

The guy shrugged, the pom-pom on his beanie bouncing a little. “I dunno, I just started here last week.”

“Sigh. Well, I suppose you’ll just have to _occupy_ me until he gets back.” John leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Uh, the owner told me to go by Jules. For the, um, aesthetic?”

John laughed. “Jewels, huh? Aren’t we fancy.”

“Well, like, J-U-L-E-S, but, yeah. I guess.” He smiled nervously. “Sorry, I don’t usually talk to people here. It’s not against the rules or anything, people just don’t really notice the janitor.”

John frowned. It wasn’t as if he’d specifically sought the guy out, but now… he felt drawn to him, somehow. “Well isn't that just a crying shame. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, make up for all those jerks?”

“O- ok, ma’am. Um... is there something I can call you? Besides ‘ma’am’?”

“Mrs. Robinson is my regular nom de plume,” John replied, winking. “But you’re so cute, go ahead and call me Edwige.” He smiled at Jules, who rubbed at the back of his neck, brown skin flushing.

“Thanks, Ms. Edwige.”

“Just Edwige is fine. Now, tell me, how did you end up working at the gayest club in Paris?”

Jules giggled, and John’s heart twisted for no damn good reason. “I didn’t go searching for a- a gay club, specifically. I just saw a ‘help wanted’ sign, and it said they only wanted twinks? Which my last boyfriend used to tell me I was, so I thought I’d apply, and here I am.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty good here, I guess. The people are pretty nice.”

John nodded along as Jules talked, though truthfully he’d half-stopped listening right around the word “twink”, or possibly “boyfriend”. What a sweet boy, this janitor. What a treat, to meet him here.

His heart stirred again as Jules mentioned something about being cheated on by his most recent ex. His heart, and… something else.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“So, Jules, darling,” John interjected, once he’d finished his story. “What I’m getting from this story, besides how completely _awful_ your ex is, is that you’re both single and interested in the less fair sex?”

Jules bit his lip, looking suddenly very nervous. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I like guys and girls and, y’know, whatever else, but technically yes, single and ready to mingle, with boys, that’s me…” He trailed off, staring into the distance. After a moment, he looked back at John, who was still silently staring at him.

“You’re adorable, have I mentioned that?” John said finally. Jules blushed even deeper.

“Um, that’s really sweet, Edwige, you’re- you’re really pretty, too.”

John chuckled. “Well, that’s good to know.” He leaned forward even farther over the bartop. “Tell me, do you get any breaks, like my good man over there?” He gestured to the bartender, who finally seemed to notice the two of them.

“Hey, kid, get back to work!” The bartender shooed at Jules, who grabbed his cleaning supplies and backed away.

“My shift ends at two! I’ll be outside!” he called to John, slipping into a back room. John sighed.

“Might as well get those shots now,” he grumbled, to a flurry of cheers.

***

Countless drinks, songs, and kisses later, John stumbled out of the club, holding his stilettos and a cigarette someone had handed him but never lit. He tossed aside the cigarette and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

“Hey! Edwige, over here!” A blurry figure with blue hair (a hat?) waved to him from an alley next to the building. After a moment he recognized Jules and grinned, jogging over to meet him.

“Darling, you’re really here! I’m so glad!” John dropped his shoes, grabbing Jules by the waist and gently pushing him against a wall. His hands lifted in surprise, then slowly settled around John’s shoulders.

“So, we’re really doing this?” Jules breathed, warm brown eyes meeting John’s icy blues. Something about the color seemed familiar to both of them, but neither voiced the thought.

John leaned in, lips against Jules’s ear. “I certainly hope so.” He pulled back, judging the other man’s reaction, before kissing him. Jules gasped and John seized the opportunity, slipping his tongue into his mouth. They kissed for a long minute, John’s hand slowly creeping up under Jules’s shirt, before Jules pulled back, breathing hard.

“Wow… you’re really… good at that.”

“Years of practice,” John replied modestly. (Truthfully, dressing in drag emboldened him, giving him more confidence than he ever felt in his normal life. If only the PBC’s dress code wasn’t _quite_ so strict.)

He moved in closer, pressing his erection against Jules’s thigh and feeling a similar hardness against his own. “So, how far are you willing to go tonight?” he asked.

Jules laughed breathlessly. “As far as you want.”

John took a deep breath, resisting the urge to jump the man right then and there. “I have a very comfortable bed at my apartment that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. What do you say?”

“Ye-yes, very much.”

 _Oh, thank god_. He moved to step away, but stopped, leaning back in. “I would like to know one other thing, first.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your real name?” he asked, breath tickling Jules’s ear. “I want to know what to moan.”

Jules shivered. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

 _Well, alright_. “I don’t do this for just everyone, but… John,” he said. “John is fine.”

“John… call me Julian.”

John’s stomach dropped. “Julian?”

Julian’s eyes flickered open. “John?”

“Julian!”

“John?!”

John stumbled backwards. “Oh my god, it’s you, isn’t it? The kid?”

“John- John Cameron?! How- Why-” Julian took a step forward, trying to follow him, but he held up a hand.

“I can’t, I can’t-” John’s breaths came harder and faster as he grabbed his shoes, backing out of the alley. “I can’t do this, not like this, not here, not now, not here, not now…”

Julian reached out desperately but John just shook his head, running out and across the street.

“John, Mr. Cameron, please!” Julian cried out, voice cracking, but it was too late. He fell to his knees, wiping tears from his eye. Once again, their paths had crossed, and once again, fate was keeping them apart.


	4. Fifteen Years Later

John was tired. At forty-seven, he was no longer the young man he’d once been. His eyes shone a little less; his orange hair was streaked with grey; sometimes his back hurt for no reason, and he had to down a handful of pain killers before even stepping out on stage. He knew he wasn’t _old_ , not really, but it was hard not to feel like it.

He felt good about his life, kind of. He’d been hosting the Orbiting Human Circus for almost thirty years now, and it was hard not to feel proud of how it’d grown under his supervision. When he’d first graduated to main host, after the death of his mentor, the show had been broadcast every other week. They could sometimes scrabble together a live audience, but operated off laugh tracks more often than not. Now, two and a half decades later, the show ( _his_ show) was the most listened to program in the _world_ , recording in front of France’s most rich and famous every single night.

John himself was one of the country’s foremost celebrities, attending more parties and openings than he’d ever dreamed. Gone were the days of sleeping on a cot in the corner of his dressing room: now he occupied a mansion so incredible that he got more calls from news programs asking for on-camera tours than he could count. His food was good, his clothes were good, his (very few) friends were good. And yet…

He lay in bed sometimes, unable to sleep, trying desperately to figure out what would fill the little empty spot in his chest. His therapist told him to try dating, so he did, but none of the men ever felt like enough, and he inevitably ended every relationship. He got a dog, and a cat, and a snake, and then two snakes (not all at the same time, as advised by the pet store employees) but all were of little to no avail. He did end up keeping the snakes, which, though not the cuddliest, lent a certain comfort.

It wasn’t only the hole in his chest that bothered him, he told his therapist. It felt like there was a hole in his brain, too, hidden behind bottles of booze and the passage of time. The two felt connected, like if he figured out how to fill one spot, the other would follow, but both remained hollow and his life continued in its imperfection.

Either way, running the show kept him busy, and he rarely had time to think about his personal problems. As his thirtieth anniversary of hosting approached, he became even busier, planning the perfect show (and after-show reception) to celebrate the occasion. Leticia, his chief stagehand and right-hand woman, offered to help, but he shrugged her off. It was _his_ night, and he trusted no one else to prepare it, not even his closest plan.

The one task he agreed to delegate to her was hiring the extra staff members needed to keep the festivities running smoothly. She pulled in a couple new stagehands, close friends of stagehand Jacques, who swore up and down that they were professional and trustworthy. She also talked to the main Eiffel Tower management, who agreed to lend her a couple members of their janitorial crew for the occasion.

And that’s when it all went to shit.

One week before the anniversary show, John decided for the first time in his career to hold a rehearsal, just to make sure everything would be absolutely perfect. Which is was, right up until the feature presentation, when a man fell out of the ceiling.

Leticia ran out onto the stage and slid to a stop next to the man, leaning down to feel his pulse. He groaned, rolling over.

“What in the world is going on?!” John shouted, storming over. “Who the hell are you and why are you interrupting my show?!” He grabbed the man’s arm and hauled him to his feet, despite Leticia’s protests.

“I’m- I’m sorry, John, I just wanted to watch the show.” The man pulled off his blue knit hat with the arm not in John’s grip and held it to his chest. “Also, it’s- I’m Julian.”

The host growled, squeezing Julian’s arm tighter. “First of all, it’s Mr. Cameron to you. Second of all, I don’t care if you’re the prime minister, _you don’t interrupt my show_.” He turned to Leticia. “Who the hell is this, anyways? I don’t recognize him.” He looked the man over: short, probably a little younger than John himself, with brown skin, curly brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a very strange fashion sense. No, he’d definitely remember if they’d met before.

“‘E is on loan from ze Eiffel Tower,” Leticia replied. “Julian… er, what was ze last name, again?”

He hesitated. “It’s… not my actual last name, legally, but I go by Katzman. Julian Katzman.”

John dropped his arm like it’d burned him. “Tish,” he said, voice strangled. “Put him in my dressing room, please. I need to finish the show.”

“Yes, Mr. Cameron, right away.” She dragged Julian offstage, the man staying remarkably silent.

Onstage, John cued stagehands Pierre and François to bring out the feature presentation. Despite a lack of further interruptions, he was unable to focus on the show, making mistake after mistake. Finally, he stopped, resolving to schedule a second rehearsal the next day.

As soon he informed the stagehands of his decision, he politely excused himself and rushed backstage, slamming open the door to his dressing room. Julian jerked his head up, startled. He was sitting on the couch with a book in his lap, which John quickly realized was his own autobiography.

“I’m not in it.”

John shut the door behind him, leaning against it and crossing his arms. “You read the whole thing in ten minutes?”

“I knew the dates to check.”

“Hmph.” He strode over and snatched the book away from Julian, snapping it closed and placing it back on his bookshelf. “Is that all you came for? I’ve been guaranteed there’s a copy in every major bookstore in France, I’m sure one of them can help you.”

Julian looked up at him, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “That’s not why I’m here. You know that.”

“Oh really? Do I?” John stared him down, suddenly furious. “What do I know, Julian? I know that this is the fourth time we’ve met in thirty goddamn years. I know that you fell out of my fucking ceiling, what, to get my attention? Like some fucking… crazed super-fan? Hey, here’s an idea, why don’t you go ahead tell me what you think I know, because that’s about all I’ve got.”

The janitor exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath throughout John’s rant. “You left me behind a club for no reason, fifteen years ago. And then I worked there for five more years, in case you came back, but you didn’t and then I got fired anyways for being late one day that my boss was in a bad mood. Every time the Eiffel Tower put out an ad for cleaning staff I applied, and didn’t get a job until last month. And you still wouldn’t talk to me, you didn’t even notice me, and I just needed to see you, so I… tried a different way.”

“Yeah, well-” John stopped, words catching in his throat. He sat down on the couch, suddenly exhausted. “You still shouldn’t have fallen onto my show.” He turned his head to look at Julian, who cracked a smile.

“No?”

“No.”

“But it did get your attention, right?” Julian asked.

John groaned, leaning back against the cushions and letting his eyes fall shut. “It didn’t exactly make me want to be your boyfriend, though, did it.”

“Oh, well, maybe this will?” And suddenly Julian was straddling him, arms resting loosely on his shoulders, and they were kissing: just like fifteen years ago, and just like in that mysterious hole in John’s brain every single day since.

Except it was even better, wasn’t it, because Julian was there, and solid, and so, so _real_. John hadn’t realized how often he’d wondered if he’d just imagined the other man until he was actually there in front of him.

Julian pulled back, smiling. “How about now?”

“I- what?” John blinked, trying to recall their conversation from before Julian had kissed him and his brain completely turned to mush.

“ _Now_ do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Oh, for- we’ve still only met four times! And during two of them, you were a kid, and the other two were just making out, more or less. And once I was in drag, so that doesn’t really-”

Julian put a finger to the host’s lips. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Well-”

“C’mon, Mr. Cameron, what do I have to do to convince you?”

John’s gaze unconsciously flickered down to their laps, glancing back up to see Julian raising his eyebrows.

“Oh- Julian, I’m an old man now.”

“Not that old.”

“We’re on a couch!”

Julian crossed his arms. “It’s a pretty nice couch. I don’t have a couch this nice.”

John sighed. “I have nicer ones at my house, if you’re that intent on- on teenage couch sex.”

“Ok, that works.” Julian hopped off John’s lap, scooping up his hat from where it’d fallen during their make-out session. “Race you to the bottom!” he said, slipping out into the hallway.

“Old!” John called after him. “Old man! I’ll beat you with my cane!”

“Only if you win!”

***

The two men lay in bed later that evening, John staring up at the ceiling with Julian curled up against his side.

“Julian?”

“Yeah?” He opened one eye, peeking up at his lover.

“Was- _is_ this worth the thirty years?”

Julian bit his lip, considering. “I mean, it wasn’t really thirty, unless you wanted to go out with a ten to fifteen year old-”

“Oh, shut up.”

“But, uh, yeah, I think it was.” He smiled, snuggling closer. “I listened to the Orbiting Human Circus every day, dreaming about seeing you.”

John returned the smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I… think it was worth it, too. I feel, I don’t know, more whole. More complete. Like I can do anything. Like I _would_ do anything. For- for you.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, I honestly think so.”

“Hmm.” Julian thought for a moment, his face lighting up. “Can I ask for one thing?”

“I suppose so,” John said, chuckling. “Might as well, while I’m in the mood.”

The janitor grinned. “Ok, then, can I be on your show?”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:  
>  \- The title is from "City of Lights" by Julian Koster  
>  \- I chose the name "Katzman" for Julian's great-grandfather from a list of Eastern European Jewish names  
>  \- "Edwige Robinson" is a reference to John Cameron Mitchell's character "Hedwig Robinson" from his musical "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" (Edwige is the French Version) as well as "Mrs. Robinson" from "The Graduate" ;)  
>  Yiddish Translations  
>  \- zeyde: grandfather  
>  \- vilde chaya: wild beast (used affectionately for rambunctious children)  
>  \- bubbala: term of endearment, like "darling"  
> 
> 
> I'm a little worried the characterization got away from me a bit, but y'know what it's an AU so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Feel free to leave questions and/or comments below, or come talk to me @ rotatinghumancircus.tumblr.com !!!!!


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